


How Many Ways

by Starships



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Rude People, Sassy Lavellan, coffee shop AU, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starships/pseuds/Starships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern day coffee shop AU romance that essentially does what it says on the tin.</p><p>Prompt: AU in which your OTPs are assholes!</p><p>Rude Solas is rude. Ellana isn't having it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Salesman makes some ridiculously incredible art and I drooled and then wrote this. Go see Solas in his outfits.
> 
> http://salesart.tumblr.com/post/131221076675/solas-stays-warm-in-his-turtleneck-day-3-of
> 
> http://salesart.tumblr.com/post/131157426827/in-another-world

“Tea,” he says, in the middle of another sentence on a phone he can’t seem to let go of.

“Uh, sure. What kind?”

“The restoration has to be finished by someone that isn’t that idiot – I don’t care what kind, just tea – and I swear if he gets his hands on it and breaks another piece I will –”

“We have eight kinds. I don’t really want to pick for you.”

His angular face is turned towards the pastry case, but at that his eyes rotate to stare at the barista. He stops talking.

Ellana thinks he’s trying to stare her down, but maybe that would be more effective if he wasn’t on his phone while trying to talk to a service worker. 

“If you insist. Earl grey,” he says. 

“Hot?” she smirks. It earns her an eye roll. “What’s your name?”

“Absolutely not,” he resumes, digging for his wallet. “He doesn’t have the training. It takes a delicate hand on a dig like this. The museum will need to –”

“ _Name,_ sir?” she interrupts more forcefully.

He puts a few bills on the counter that may or may not be the correct amount, not looking at her. “Solas. The museum will need to be very careful about who they hire for the work if they expect a complete exhibit at the end.”

She stares at him and his well cut suit as he walks to the other end of the bar, gesturing emphatically despite holding a briefcase in his spare hand. She makes his tea, wraps it in a cardboard cozy, and writes his name at the top of the cup. He’s waiting for it, but when she murmurs “Solas,” they make their first real eye contact and she gets goosebumps.

Like a teenager. Inwardly, she groans.

He takes his tea with a nod and doesn’t notice the name she had written on it until he’s outside and halfway to his car.

_Solass._

He throws his head back and laughs.

 

Tuesday morning, most of the leaves are gone and the air is crisp and threatening snow, and he’s got a cable knit sweater on that hugs his chest and hips and shoulders. 

Ellana wishes she didn’t know he was trim under those suits.

“Tea,” he says with no preamble, off his phone this time.

“Did you enjoy the Earl Grey?” she asks, ringing in his order.

“No.”

“Uh… Was it too strong?”

“No.”

Ellana sighs and shakes her head. “Okay,” she says.

“I… do not care for tea.”

“But you order it.”

“Yes.”

“Repeatedly.”

“Yes.”

“…Right.”

He shrugs. "It is warm."

“You know, I can make you something that is warm and delicious and not as terrible as Earl Grey at all.”

“You also don’t like it?”

“It’s bitter.”

“Hm. Very well. How much?”

“Same as your tea. I’ll ring you up properly next time if you enjoy it.”

The number of bills he puts on the counter today is wrong again, she notes. It means he’s tipped her three dollars and she suspects it’s on purpose.

He waits at the end of the bar while she works.

She takes spices – cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom – into a little vanilla, slowly stirring them into the espresso shots. She moves the spoon lovingly, the smell coming up exactly like Christmas morning. She steams the milk into a strong foam and spoons it slowly into his cup, shaving dark chocolate over the top in lieu of whipped cream.

“That looks too sweet,” he complains.

“Ye of little faith,” she scoffs, sliding it to him. She meets his eyes.

“Solas,” she adds.

It isn’t her that gets goosebumps this time.

It's delicious.

His cheeks and ears tip pink, and he stares a little too long before leaving without a word.

 

The snow has started, gently. His loafers have a clinging ring of the stuff as the bell chimes and he walks through the door. 

A grey wool suit today that make his eyes stupidly blue.

“Good morning!” Ellana greets. “What would you like this morning? Sorry if that coffee before was a little off the cuff—”

“No!” he says, too sharply. “No, it ah… was fine. I would like it again, please.”

Her eyes light up. “Would you?”

“For here, this time. I have some work to do.”

“Of course you do,” she says with a smile. “The table in the left corner is the only one with an outlet; please avoid it unless you’re charging something.”

“You’ve only the one?”

“Yup! Small shop, here. I’ll bring it out to you when it’s ready.”

With a smirk, he walks straight to the back left table, tosses his coat over one side, and sits without plugging his laptop in.

And starts talking on his phone.

Ellana sighs and makes his coffee in a to go cup just for the sake of writing on it. 

Walking to his table, she sets it down and says “I’m sure the others don’t mind waiting.”

“What others?” he asks, gesturing to the empty shop save for a lone red headed man with copious chest hair writing on a tablet. “No, Merrill, hold on – I’m sure you can let me know if you get too busy and I must relocate,” he says teasingly to Ellana.

She’s probably imagining the heat in his eyes. She really needs to get out more.

Before she leaves, she turns his cup so he can see his name. _Soulless._

He decides he likes it here.

The shop starts to fill as the morning goes on, students coming in before first classes and people from the apartments above just waking. He watches Ellana, trying to be subtle in between his calls with the curator and his intern and his intern again and two more times before he actually gets to writing his report on his last dig. 

She's got honey eyes, and attentive hands, and she smirks when she thinks people aren’t looking. 

She also smirks when she knows he is.

He grows a little concerned when the burly man seems intimately familiar with her, getting her to laugh and gesture and fan herself in their murmured discussion, but he realizes the other man must be the owner when Ellana delivers him a stack of bills from behind the counter. 

The place gets crowded, loud. He receives a fair share of dirty looks and pointed stares at the unused outlet but Ellana never once asks him to move.

The copper haired man walks over to Solas and thrusts his hand out. “Varric,” he says. 

"Yes?" Solas asks. 

"Ellana told you about the outlet, right?"

“Ellana?”

Varric points. She’s drawing something in foam.

Ah.

“She did.”

“I see,” he says, smirking. “Just checking.”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Varric returns to his writing, whistling across the shop. He winks at Ellana.

Solas does not like that.

Gathering his things and closing his unfinished work, he marches up to the counter and doesn’t wait for her to ask what he wants.

“Drip this time, to go please, cream without sugar. And your number. I assume you’re also free Friday night since you’re here working so early?”

Ellana can’t help it, she laughs out loud. 

"You ballsy motherfucker," she grins, filling his coffee. "Absolutely not."

Startled, he stares at her. “What?” he asks dumbly. 

"I can't believe you thought that would work," she says, writing his name on his cup. "I can't even in good conscience say it was a good try.”

Huffing, he starts to stumble over a strange mix of indignation and apology, but she cuts him off. 

"I am off early on Fridays, though. I’ll make you something special if you come in then.”

He stares at her honey eyes in the afternoon sun, ringed in dark lashes and a little too much mascara. 

“Yes,” he says, excitedly, without thinking, grinning.

He is not the picture of finesse. 

_Solace_ , his cup says.

His grin stays.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm at the end of a cold, so please enjoy a short chapter bump from a delirious brain.

Friday morning saw the ground partially frozen and Ellana’s breath dancing in front of her as she huddles to the coffee shop. Mittens, scarf, earmuffs, hat, two sweaters – winter made her bitterly regret her apartment lacking a fireplace.

And another person.

Taking three tries to get her key in the lock as the city slowly wakes behind her, she pushes her way inside and hits the lights, the heat, the machines. Her opening time is spent convincing herself she doesn’t have butterflies, it’s just the temperature change of the heat finally coming on. 

She doesn’t know if he’ll show, anyway. But she suspects he will. 

And she has a plan.

 

More bundled than normal, Solas arrives with too much work to do around noon. He figures he can try and wait her out if he needs, but if it’s too awkward, he can brush it off and muster a smirk and bail.

Really, really fast.

Pushing his way inside muttering about being too old for this, his senses are assaulted – the heat, raucous laughter, the warm smell of good coffee, and colors everywhere.

The shop is _slammed_. He can see Ellana behind the bar and it’s clear she hasn’t noticed him; he would be surprised if she could notice anything with a line of eight beverages waiting to be crafted.

Small shop, indeed. 

There’s no free table he can take, so he resigns himself to waiting in line, trying to line himself up with the bodies in front of him so she can’t see him until he’s closer. 

A tap on his shoulder has him turning and looking down.

Varric is there, grinning smugly.

“Can I interest you in a table, Chuckles?” he asks. 

“You appear to not have any free,” Solas replies archly.

“Of course I do. There’s mine. And I’m headed upstairs to find out where the fuck our pastry shipment is, anyway. Besides,” and his eyes are all too knowing, “we’ll slow down soon enough. You should have some place to sit when that happens. So you can get your work done in peace, of course.”

“Of course.”

Varric’s table is small with two stiff-backed chairs, but it’s spacious enough for papers and a laptop and coffee without too much risk of knocking one over. The wood is a rich grooved mahogany color, and looks hand made and sturdy. He idly wonders who the craftsman is. 

There is a butt and a bee carved into one corner.

The line has already filled in behind Solas’ departure and is now to the door. He sighs.

“There, there. She’ll be with you soon enough.”

“I only wish the wait for coffee were less.”

“Suuuure.”

Ultimately it’s a half an hour before he is jolted up from his work by a steaming cup that smells like heaven and a woman he has never seen in full flouncing into the chair across from him.

“Phew!” Ellana says, ungracefully shoving hair out of her face. It shines like a forest in the sunlight. “Sorry that took a century.”

“Nonsense,” he replies, wrapping his hands around the warmth of the beverage in front of him. “You’re worth the wait.”

“Oh, well, goodness,” she cries, putting her hand over her heart, “as long as you think I’m worth thirty entire minutes, you have my undying gratitude! Whatever would I do without you.”

He snorts derisively as he bring the drink to his lips. There is no name written on it. “What is this?” he asks.

“Guess and it’s free.”

He eyes the empty register. “I suspect it’s free anyway.”

“Only because Varric left to yell at vendors.”

“Hm.”

He sips, and the warmth starts in his gut and his whole body relaxes.

He loves winter.

“Dark chocolate,” she begins, not waiting for him to guess. “The darkest I have. Darker than the shop carries, actually. It needs to be bitter. A little raw sugar, and the chocolate melted into the espresso. The tiniest dash of cardamom bitters. And an orange peel.”

Her eyes are alive and she’s leaning forward while she watches him drink. His eyes roll back in his head a little as he holds the drink to his chest, and she looks pleased as punch.

“Good!” she announces. His eyes pop open when he hears her slap something down on the table.

Tickets.

He feels his stomach drop out from under him.

Museum tickets.

His museum.

Tickets.

Shit.

“So, there’s this place that I love,” she begins. “And whoever decides the collections has a really good sense for what’s evocative. The pieces all carry a more person weight from their time periods. And I thought you should take me, because I’m off at 2.”

She nudges the tickets at him, and he looks like they might bite.

“My name is Ellana.”

“Varric told me,” is all he can manage.

“Of course he did, the sod. So. Can you stay until Leliana takes over my shift, and then enjoy some tea setting restorations with me?” 

“Of course,” he replies robotically, calculating how many people he knows that should know nothing of his private life that will after today.

Vivienne.

Dorian.

Oh, god. Dorian. 

No.

But she leans across the table and suddenly he has an eye full of her breasts through her sweater and apron and she is leaning in and she smells like vanilla and her lips are on his cheek and she murmurs “Thank you, Solas,” and his fist clenches at his name and then she is gone to help the couple who just came in and who he did not even hear despite the bell on the door.

He stares blankly while his IM pings and four emails come in and his phone rings and goes to voicemail.

She can’t possibly know he works there. His name isn’t on any of his restorations, and he has a workshop before transporting the pieces to the museum.

He did the tea settings, though.

…fuck.


End file.
